Under This Roof, There Is Shelter
by Mytay
Summary: Five minutes after Burt realized who's car had been lingering outside his house, he'd gone out and brought back a gel-haired, preppy teenager, who looked both miserable and resigned. He figured Blaine wanted to face his death-by-boyfriend's-dad's shotgun with some degree of honour.


**Under This Roof, There is Shelter**

**By: **Mytay

**Rating: **K+

**Disclaimer: **I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related.

**Summary****: **Five minutes after Burt realized who's car had been lingering outside his house, he'd gone out and brought back a gel-haired, preppy teenager, who looked both miserable and resigned. He figured Blaine wanted to face his death-by-boyfriend's-dad's-shotgun with some degree of honour.

**Notes: ***sigh* Okay, Glee, I don't even know what to think. So this is me, trying to figure out what I think. This isn't fix-it fic, this is more reconciling-fic.

**Spoilers: **For season 4, episode 4, _The Break-Up._

**Dedicated **to the amazing, lovely **The Chocolate Alchemist, **because she is amazing and lovely and I shamefully forgot her birthday – happy belated birthday, sweetheart! *sends virtual eighteen wheeler stuffed full of chocolate birthday cakes*

OOOOOOOOOOO

"_The heart of a father is a masterpiece of nature." _

- Abbé Prévost

OOOOOOOOOOO

Blaine Anderson sat on the couch of the Hudson-Hummel home, swallowing hard and looking nervous as all hell, but trying to hide it.

Burt could see it all clearly – he knew the boy well (and never had he looked more like a _boy_ to him, even wearing the usual cleanly pressed shirt, the pinstriped slacks and grandpa sweater vest). Burt noticed a lack of bowtie: he remembered more than a dozen instances of Kurt sighing fondly and straightening it when they came back in from a date, trying to pretend they didn't spend the last twenty minutes of Kurt's curfew making out in the car. He wondered if it meant that something important had changed (aside from the obvious); there were a few times when Kurt's wardrobe had been a pretty good barometer to measure his mood by, and the clothes had changed and evolved just like Kurt did.

Carole came in holding a cup of decaf coffee for him (she was just as militant as Kurt about his diet, and damn if those two didn't giggle _evilly_ over the phone to each other about recipes and exercise schedules and what best way to _emotionally blackmail_ him into trying it all), and a cup of tea for Blaine even though he'd said he hadn't wanted anything. He took it with a faint, "Thank you," and then just held it between two hands, eyes focused on the steaming brown liquid.

"How's Finn?" Burt asked, looking away from the forlorn teenager and up at his wife.

She gave him a half shrug and smile, "He's feeling low and useless. He wants some hot chocolate and a peanut butter/banana/Nutella sandwich. Which means defcon one in Finn-speak."

"Sort of like chocolate covered strawberries and whipped cream, with a vanilla ice cream smoothie for Kurt," Burt reminisced – out of the corner of his eye he noticed Blaine's lips twitch upwards for a split second. "You let me know when the threat level's gone down enough for me to talk to him."

"Once we've fed and watered him, he should be pretty receptive to a good-old fashioned Burt Hummel pep talk," she said with a wider smile. She leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and before she left the living room, she put a consoling hand on Blaine's shoulder. He barely looked up at her, and there was a faint pink tinge to his cheeks.

Hours before this, it had taken Burt a while to notice the silver Mazda parked across the street from his house.

Finn had shown up after spending the day at McKinley, heartbroken and worn down. Kurt had called ahead earlier in the day, while Burt had been home from work eating lunch, and warned them he was coming. He hadn't said much else, not explaining the why behind the sudden visit, but it wasn't a mystery to either Burt or Carole. Finn had been sending postcards to them – along with requests not to tell anyone he'd scrubbed out from the army – and it was about time that stubborn boy dragged his butt home. Burt had been glad to see him, relieved to have him back in once piece even if he was broken in other ways.

And then he'd asked Kurt how _he_ was doing.

In all the years he'd raised that boy, he'd always been able to tell when something wasn't right. Never had Kurt been able to hide tears from him.

After almost an hour spent listening to Kurt speak and cry, trying to comfort him and taper down his own anger at Blaine for doing the unthinkable, Burt had hung up the phone and immediately looked for something to do that didn't involve violence. That something ended up being unclogging the garbage disposal, fixing the faucet in the downstairs bathroom, and taking out the recycling. He was feeling calmer, more disappointed than angry with Blaine, and trying to focus on other things besides his son's wrecked voice over the phone. Which was when he'd spotted the car, just barely noticing it out of the corner of his eye as he came back in from the recycling.

He was inside the house a minute later, about to make himself a sandwich, when his mind helpfully reminded him to whom the car belonged. He'd made his way to the living room window, pulling back the curtains, and yes, it was still there, and definitely the car belonging to one Blaine Anderson.

Five minutes after that, Burt had gone out and brought back a gel-haired, preppy teenager, who looked both miserable and resigned. He figured Blaine wanted to face his death-by-boyfriend's-dad's-shotgun with some degree of honour.

Burt had let him stew in that for a bit. Kurt was his son, after all, and he was so, so _hurt_.

Now, he took a sip from his coffee. Blaine mirrored him, though it looked like all he did was bring the tea to brush his lips and let it come back down again. Burt decided enough silent punishment was enough.

"I know what you did to Kurt, Blaine."

The cup trembled dangerously, but Blaine managed to keep it from spilling over. "I . . . I knew he'd tell you."

Burt nodded, "Yeah. Haven't spoken on the phone with him that long in a while, but he spent most of that crying. I don't like hearing that, Blaine. I don't like it when my boy cries."

Another hard swallow and Blaine put down the tea on the coffee table, carefully and on top of a coaster. Burt repressed a light snort at that polite gesture in the midst of this. Some manners were just too ingrained, he supposed – Kurt had gotten all of his from his mother. Blaine probably had too, though Burt had gotten the impression that less love and care had gone into it – more _do this and don't embarrass me. _He'd felt sorry for the kid in the past, but right now he had to be on Kurt's side.

"I . . . don't have anything even close to resembling a good excuse, sir."

Back to the _sir, _was it? It had taken Burt more than a year to get Blaine to call him by his first name, once he'd grown to really like the other boy, sure that what he felt for Kurt was genuine (after prom, after that damn prank, after Blaine conquered his own fears and asked Burt's son for a dance in front of a crowd of hostile, bigoted jackasses). It had felt like a weird sort of victory for Burt the first time Blaine said it, self-consciously, quickly and quietly, but then the teen had smiled brightly and thanked him for inviting him to dinner. That had been about a month before Kurt left for New York.

"No one ever does for this kind of crap, because there is _no good excuse._"

Now that he had no mug of tea to hold, Blaine's hands hung listlessly in his lap – he hunched in on himself and nodded, misery apparent in every tensed line of his body.

"Look, Blaine," Burt sat down on the coffee table, something Kurt would have smacked him for but his son wasn't here. That ache was constant, but he was learning to cope. Somewhat. It would be better if Kurt called more often. "I need you to understand that I can't ever see what you did as okay. But you came here for a reason – you hung around out there like a pathetic puppy left behind in a cardboard box, and I'm not really the kind of person that kicks puppies." It was on the tip of his tongue to say, _but get Kurt to tell you about that time with the opossum, _but that wasn't an option for Blaine anymore, was it? "Tell me why you're here."

Blaine straightened a bit, though he couldn't quite meet Burt's eyes. "I . . . don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I don't even know if we're broken up . . . although I'm pretty sure that's what this has to mean." His voice cracked, and his eyes were shining with tears, but before they could fall he blinked quickly and took in a deep, shaking breath. "I'm . . . pretty good at being inappropriate, aren't I, Mr. Hummel? I asked you to give Kurt 'the talk', and the stupid Gap incident, and the time Finn and I broke the kitchen table . . ."

That had been a memorable evening. He had to admit the video was funny – and up until the disastrous tumble, their rendition of _Renegade _had been very good. Burt never did figure out how they'd roped the usually-smarter-than-that Kurt into being their cameraman. For weeks after the fact, Kurt only had to sing the first line of the song to get Finn or Blaine to throw pillows at him.

Never mind that it was the _second _table Finn had broken with his rock-and-roll antics. Burt made enough money now to be able to replace broken tables – though not _broken limbs and cracked heads, _he'd said sternly to all the boys. Blaine had taken the lecture well, and came over the day they were building the new furniture, and . . . Burt had to stop this, because there was a good chance Blaine would be out of their lives soon, and Kurt had every right to make it that way – so Burt had to fall in line with that.

"I don't know why I'm always doing these things. Sometimes I even _know_ how bad these ideas are, but I do them anyway, because I think they'll work out, or that it doesn't matter in the end, because . . ."

He trailed off, uncertain, and then left it there, an awkward, unfinished sentence. Burt could fill in the blanks.

"Kid, you're used to being the centre of attention out there in the world." _Though not at home, _he thought grimly. "You're used to having all the control and not letting anyone see that you're just as scared and insecure as all the rest." Burt had long suspected that Kurt had been the first to really see Blaine for who he really was under all that charm. "You do things 'cause you _can, _and 'cause you're a teenager." He couldn't in good conscience leave Blaine all alone in that car, but it was tough trying to sympathize with him because he'd _broken Kurt's heart. _But then again, it was hard to deny that Blaine was heartbroken too.

And that he had no one else to talk to – no other _grown-up _anyways.

"That's not good enough," Blaine said, suddenly fierce. "I knew what Eli wanted when I messaged him, and I knew it the whole drive over, and when we were in his house – it didn't _just happen. _I hate it every time people say that on TV, because these things aren't _accidents, _and they _don't_ _just happen._" He deflated just as suddenly, and there was a tear trying to escape, but Blaine swiped at it angrily before it could make it past his cheek. "I missed Kurt so much it was killing me. He was busy with his new life, and I understood that, I swear I did . . . but it felt like everything I was worried about before was coming true. And I remembered Kurt texting this other guy . . ."

Burt's eyebrows shot up, but then he vaguely remembered Kurt telling him something about this, and maybe a fight where Blaine stormed out to Burt and Carole's surprise. But Kurt had explained _after_ he and Blaine had talked it out, so he was dismissive about the whole thing, happy and hiding hickies with cover-up again.

" . . . And how much that had hurt, and now he's in New York, with a whole ton of gay guys, and a fantastic job, and his own apartment, and he's . . ." He stopped, blushing a bit, eyes darting to Burt's with embarrassment, though he forged on despite it, "He's _perfect-_looking and _smart _and everything _big city _and I'm here, in Ohio, stuck in high school and I'm not the one he turns to anymore for help and he wasn't there for me and . . ." The ramble ended abruptly again. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel. I don't know what I was thinking. I'll just go and . . ."

"You stay right there, Blaine Anderson – you ain't leavin' until we've hashed this out." Burt waited until Blaine lowered himself back down, staring at him with wide, glassy eyes. Burt wasn't a man who could let things lie, not when they involved people he knew, people his family had cared about, and yeah, that _he _had grown to care about too.

"You were feeling alone, you were feeling like you didn't know what was up or down anymore, and you didn't want to talk to Kurt about it because, well, first of all I know what it's like trying to get a hold of him now, but also 'cause you didn't want to hear him confirm everything you just told me."

The eyes grew a little wider and Burt knew Blaine was seeing it for himself now. Kurt had that same look whenever Burt figured something out before he did – sometimes these boys forgot that the whole thing about being an adult was that a person had _experience, _and maybe it didn't always match up to what they were going through, but all the years they had over them did add up to _knowing _about these things and others.

"You did something stupid, something wrong – you did it because you were lonely, you did it because you wanted Kurt to feel just _a bit _of what you were feeling. And then you felt a hundred times worse after – because you had pretty much just handed Kurt the perfect reason to let you go. You made all that stuff you were freaking out and worrying about _come true._"

Blaine's face crumpled, and he wouldn't have been able to stop these tears – they flowed too fast, and there were too many. The boy didn't try to swipe at them though – he just closed his eyes and let them fall silently. Burt didn't regret his harsh tone, but he did regret that there was no one in Blaine's corner. Where was his mom for this talk? Where was his father? He knew the Anderson's travelled a lot, but Blaine had bought a ticket and gone to New York by himself, and no one said a peep? Was he grounded or something? Did they even _know _he'd done it?

He sighed to himself – there was really no point in fighting the urge anymore. He moved to sit on the couch next to Blaine. The boy flinched back, finally trying to wipe at the tears (with an actual handkerchief, of course), and turning his head away as if Burt didn't already know he was falling to pieces. He leaned in and put a hand on Blaine's back. The muscles tensed and bunched under his hand, but Blaine didn't move away – likely he didn't know what do about it, but after another second, he seemed to lean into it. Burt knew how tactile Blaine could be; he didn't want to think of the boy as touch-starved, but damn, the way he interacted with Kurt and with his friends . . .

"Not gonna lie to you, Blaine, you're in my bad books. I really hate what you did, hate what it's done to my son, and hate the fact that I can't quite get myself to give you the talking to I think you deserve. Because you know you've messed up, and you clearly feel worse about it than I could ever make you feel. Than Kurt, I'm guessing, made you feel."

A sob broke out, but Blaine smothered it with his handkerchief-covered hands. Burt sighed again, rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. "You got a plan for making this up to Kurt?"

Blaine froze. Burt held back a smile as the boy turned to face him, movement hesitant and face full of disbelief. "What?"

"I said, what are you going to do about this? You don't even know if you're broken up. You tried calling him? Emailing him?"

"Yes. He won't talk to me. And then I sent flowers and . . . nothing."

Burt did snort then, "Flowers? Blaine, you messed up in a big way – flowers aren't going to cut it. Not even close."

The boy floundered for a minute, "But – I don't know what else to _do_. I can't fly to New York every weekend, bang on his door until he agrees to talk to me. I can't throw myself at him, because . . . there's nothing I can say or do to make it right."

"I agree, but that doesn't mean you stop trying. You give him his space, because honestly, that's what _I_ want for him and know he needs. You email him every once in a while, but you keep your distance, see what there is to salvage. At some point you're gonna have to talk about where things are at."

Blaine ducked his head, biting his lower lip, "And then what if he tells me he doesn't want me anymore?"

"Then you deal with it, kid, but see if you can be friends – see if you can try and build it up again, earn his trust, with the understanding that you may never be able to be what you were again." Burt wasn't sure how long it would take for him to trust Blaine with Kurt's heart a second time, and if somehow they worked it out, got back together, and Blaine did something this stupid _again, _he sincerely doubted his ability to hold back on the whole shotgun threat.

His words were met with a hard flinch, a hitching breath, and a couple more tears – but Blaine nodded, staring at his knees, then at the floor.

"And in the meantime," Burt stared up at the ceiling for a second, and yes, he was going to say this, because he was just that much of a sucker for crying gay teenagers, apparently, "You come to me if you need to talk about stuff. Even about Kurt, though you do understand that I'm gonna be pretty biased, and uh, there's certain things that we will _not _be discussing unless . . ."

A terrible, horrifying thought occurred to Burt, and once it did, he couldn't shake it. Blaine was looking pretty incredulous about his offer, hopeful in a way that was . . . but Burt was a split second from taking it back – it depended on the answer to his next question.

"Blaine, did you and Kurt – after what you did – Blaine, does Kurt need to go to the doctor for _any _reason?"

Because if he did, Burt was going to throw the kid out on his _ass, _tears or no tears.

"_No!_ No, no," Blaine jumped to his feet, handkerchief clenched in a white knuckled fist. He was serious and earnest and even a little offended, which Burt didn't think he had the right to be, but he wasn't going to make an issue of it. Not until he had the information he needed. "I didn't – nothing _happened _that needed to be – it was just . . . hands . . . and making out. We were both . . . safe. And Kurt and I didn't . . ." He blushed, his shame so obvious that Burt felt second-hand embarrassment knowing this, but it had be known, for Kurt's sake.

"Okay." If anything, he trusted that Kurt wouldn't have done anything with Blaine, not after finding out about this, and it hadn't sounded like they had any time before, since they spent their night out with Finn and Rachel. And he'd vetted Blaine thoroughly once he and Kurt started going out – he knew in painful detail how much safe-sex knowledge the teenager possessed, but all that might have been thrown out the window considering the circumstances.

"Okay – my offer still stands then." Kurt might give him hell, but it felt right – more right than leaving Blaine alone and hurt and confused did. "You come by the garage whenever. If Kurt's not here, or if he is and says he doesn't mind, then you're welcome here too."

The shock was back, as was the hope – it was a small flicker behind the eyes. Blaine pressed his lips together, shaking his head, "I can't – Mr. Hummel, you're being –"

"Kid, do not tell me what I can and can't do, especially under my own roof – if I say you can talk to me, then you can talk to me. And you damn well talk to me, talk to _someone _who can try and help you, before you do something this _stupid _again. Got me? Because I'm not going to be the one to tell my son that the boy he loves," Blaine smiled faintly at the present-tense of the word, "Got himself sick or thrown in jail or whatever other dumbass idea may be floating around in that shellacked head of yours. Hell, talk to Schuester – Finn seems to take his advice better than he does mine."

"I . . . don't really feel all that close to Mr. Schuester, but I do like Miss Pillsbury . . . and you, sir. I would very much like to be able to talk to you. I understand it won't be like before – but it's . . . thank you. So much."

He looked so pathetically grateful Burt decided to give in to another couple of urges – he put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little, and then turned to shout over his own shoulder, "Hey Carole – you okay with having Blaine over for dinner?"

Blaine blinked at this, while Carole called back, "Sure – it's going to be a veggie casserole, Blaine, that seem good to you?"

Burt made a face at Blaine, who laughed and wiped the last of the tear tracks off his cheeks. "That sounds perfect Ca – Mrs. Hudson-Hummel."

"Blaine, you call me Carole or I'm going to let Finn eat all this blueberry pie and ice cream by himself."

"Pie?" Finn poked his head out from the top of the stairs, and then started to make his way down, staring at Blaine for a second before seemingly reasserting his priorities. "Mom? You made pie?"

"Yes – get in here and set the table – just 'cause you're a semi-honourable former soldier does not mean you can skip out on chores."

Finn was grinning a bit, so clearly Schuester and Carole had done some good – maybe Burt wasn't needed for this, but he had to throw in his own two cents. Hell, he just gave his son's cheating maybe-ex-boyfriend a talk, so he owed one to his stepson, who was just as heartbroken and probably even more confused and lost.

"You, um, good with me being here, Finn?" Blaine asked quietly as they headed into the kitchen. Burt held back a moment, watching them both.

"Dude, look," Finn stopped in his tracks and moved in closer to Blaine, staring down at him – Blaine didn't fidget, but he was definitely looking nervous again. Then Finn relaxed his stance, sighing as he spoke, "I've done my fair share of dumb things, and unfortunately, some of those dumb things involved cheating. I'm . . . sad that you did this to Kurt, and as his big brother, I sort of don't like you right now . . . but I really can't be all judgey about it. So," Finn nudged him hard with an elbow and Blaine took it with good grace. "You suck and if Kurt asks me to kick your ass, I'll do it – but I'll totally pull my punches. A bit."

"No beating people up," Burt said with a more gentle, affectionate nudge of his own for Finn – he was so damn proud of him and Kurt for being so good to each other. "And go on, set the table before your mom threatens to hold the pie hostage."

Blaine followed close on Finn's heels, obviously intent on being a good guest, offering to help – just like always. Carole left Finn and Blaine to set up everything, sliding herself over to Burt's side, smiling up at him as he settled an arm around her.

"Am I a bad mother for being happy that a gun went off into my son's leg?" she asked, a note of worry in her voice. "Burt, I was incredibly proud of him, but God, it wasn't what I wanted – I was so scared and now he's _home_."

"Are you kidding? I'm right there with you. Though what in the hell a raw recruit was doing cleaning a _loaded _rifle I seriously do not understand."

She laughed a little bit, leaning her head on his shoulder. He pressed his cheek to her hair, inhaling the lingering scent of fresh pie and dish soap. "You think I'm a bad father for letting my son's cheating boyfriend eat dinner with us?"

"You're a damn near perfect father, and Blaine is a good kid – even if he did such a horrible thing to Kurt . . ." She exhaled heavily, "I think he just needs a little direction, a little support from people who care." _Because clearly his parents don't _was left unsaid – she didn't need to say it because Burt had had _that _conversation with her a few times over the past year.

"We're done!" Finn called, sitting down at the table, eying the food with that predatory glint in his eye Burt recognized well.

"We better get over there before our son eats the table and everything on it." Burt joked lightly, but he dropped his arm from around Carole, reaching for her hand and interlacing their fingers tightly. "And I want to see if I can convince Kurt to come home soon, for a weekend. That damn job of his is driving _me _crazy. I knew what I was letting him go to – but I guess I can't let go as well as I thought. Even if he's better off there than here, I want to see my son."

Carole used her free hand to grasp his jaw, turning him to face her directly, "Burt Hummel, I'm only going to say this one more time: you are the _best _father any son or stepson could ask for. And I want to see _my_ stepson too. You tell him I'll go back to acid wash jeans if he doesn't visit in the next month. And that he's coming home for Thanksgiving, period."

Burt ducked his head, grinning ear to ear, "Yes ma'am."

He followed his beautiful, amazing wife to the table, sat down with his goofy, loveable stepson, and his incredible son's charming, polite, maybe-possibly-ex-boyfriend, and had a veggie casserole instead of a steak, and a glass of juice instead of a beer, and wondered if maybe he could convince Blaine to lend a hand at the garage every once in a while.

Maybe he could show him that building cars had nothing to do with being straight or gay, that he could be more than who his boyfriend was or what clubs he joined in school, and that at the end of the day, if he was honest and happy with himself, trying to live the life he wanted to live without hurting anyone, then he'd do okay.

It was what Burt had tried to teach Kurt, and considering where Kurt was right now, he figured he did right by his boy and just maybe he could give a little of that to Finn and now, to Blaine too. It was what felt right to him, and if he wanted to keep being able to look himself in the mirror (look his son in the eye), then he had go with what felt right, no matter how hard (or odd) it might be.

Blaine was a good kid and right now it was all hurt and misunderstanding and broken trust, but he could still sort of see a future that had him in it, had him close to his family, whether it was as Kurt's boyfriend or not. So, it followed then that he had to make sure that Blaine was going to be all right. It was the least he could do – it was what any dad would do, he'd like to think – and he wasn't all that special or amazing a father for wanting to make sure that his family and those they loved knew that there was always a safe and warm place for them in his house.

OOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **And there it is. I have no clue what it means, or what I was trying to do. I just like to think that Burt Hummel has all the answers, so I tried to work it out through his eyes. I did my best to proofread but if you spot any mistakes, please point them out, and I'll fix them as quickly as I can.

As usual, I beg forgiveness for my lack of updates, and send love and gratitude to any and all who read, with special extra thanks to those who review and/or favourite!


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